


with words i thought i'd never speak

by michellea



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellea/pseuds/michellea
Summary: “Bodhi—Bodhi Rook.” The sense of familiarity clicked into place only a second later, the look in his eyes exemplifying utmost relief and jubilation. He knew, and so did Cassian.
“And you’re Cassian—I remember.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmes/gifts).



> honestly, i wanted to write something where bodhi and cassian met before canon, so here it is !!
> 
> for ashley who basically got me to start writing again and who let me scream about my favorite space boyfriends.
> 
> hope you enjoy !!

Calloused fingers fumble with loose wires in his pockets, every sound only a remnant of the words spoken in the background; muffled as though he’s underwater. He can hear his name amongst the commotion in front of him, droning on and on, yet he still doesn’t look up. What’s the point of fighting when he’s accepted death years ago.

“Bodhi!” A woman’s voice, one recognized to be his mother’s. He can’t breathe; the Empire was going to kill him, his family, and no matter what he did it would be unavoidable. “...What?” Barely choked out between teeth, perturbation settled upon shoulders already weighed down.

Only then does he manage to look up to the face of a General, her name being something he hadn’t bothered to remember. A simper so wicked and knowing, he couldn’t help but cower.

“We have an offer for you and your family.” She barely had time to finish before he managed to formulate a response: “I’m not interested.”

Her simper only gets wider, something repugnant and maniacal. It became a one-sided game where all chances led to him conceding. “You’ve been struggling, haven’t you? Betting and gambling to make sure your family survives? At least you’re smarter than your sister.”

“Don’t…” Indignation paired with vexation coursed through his core; a once cowering boy stood tall. Jaw clenched, vision dotted. He swore to protect her when his mother grew ill and his father passed away from a work related incident, so he was told. He failed, and he had only himself to blame.

“You kill her, and you expect me to listen you? Any of you? You took my family from me...in front of me! You have given me no reason to care about what you have to say, because I don’t.”

The General’s opposing countenance doesn’t seem to falter, almost as though she had been expecting his retaliation. Her tongue clicks—a predator mocking its prey. Any remnant of conviction left Bodhi’s body, leaving the shell of a petrified, 14 year old boy. He made a mistake, feeling as though the probability of his execution loomed over him. Before he could offer a reaction, her hand signaled him to be silent.

“You either join the Empire or I will personally ensure the survival of your family is minimal." She continues before Bodhi was given a chance to respond, “you have talents which the Empire would find useful. —I need an answer now.”

An invitation to join the very regime which broke apart a family united, palms drenched in the blood of those around him. A home destroyed from theft and harvesting—and the only choice he was faced with was joining them to ensure the survival of his mother, or dying alongside her. He wouldn’t let her die, too. Not again.

One look at her, eyes formed a film overtop to suppress any bouts of emotion, and the slightest nod. “I’m sorry…” It had been inaudible, yet she knew. His mind had been made.

Finally turning back, his features stripped themselves of any remnants of emotion.

“I’m ready.”

***

Dust and grime mask the cool navy of Bodhi’s given uniform, the Imperial emblem displaying proudly upon his arm. A false exhibition of sides, for countless days, years, have been placed towards his implementation into the pilot program. Yet, after everything all he seems to understand is that his escape would be definite. Whether it occurs years in the near future, or the following day, it’s inevitable. His support in a blood-ridden regime formulates into a false facade at every given moment, and it takes everything he has for it not to falter.

He’s been watching his partners and companions. Memorizing their schedules and shifts in order to ensure the communications sector would be clear when he needed it. If anything, Bodhi knew his superiors had been watching him, too. Making sure the newest addition to their pilot program was performing up to standards. —Waiting until the last rotation had been complete, he’d cover his tracks to ensure his safety. If anything, they may already know what he was up to, yet he remains uncaring.

Word had gone around of the growing ranks of a rebellion: its location, those involved, how it might just be the threat Bodhi needed to escape. 

He listens to all of the rumors and chatter around him: every mention of the rebellion from other cargo pilots turning into vital information. Everyday proves to be the same. Gossip circulating within a small set of individuals, not daring to escape into the confines of the compound, until he finally hears a name:  _Cassian_.

Maybe the plan to send a radio signal hadn’t been so far-fetched.

Following his shift, he’d linger in public quarters, acting out ‘necessary’ tasks in order to go unnoticed. The charade would continue on for hours before the communications sector would finally become abandoned for the night, guards perusing around the dimly lit corridors of the compound to ensure the possibility of an intruder would be minimized.

However, an intruder from the inside was something they would never imagine.

The steps were simple: block the communication line, and find a compatible signal. The difficulty came with hacking into the Rebellion Base unnoticed from both ends of the transmission. Luckily, his eavesdropping became useful in both information and mechanics.

A lulling buzz comes out of the monitor, seemingly unending. Beads of sweat begin to glisten atop his forehead, dark skin glistening against the light of the stars. Persistence manifests through gritted teeth, fingers pressing various switches and knobs to gain the correct frequency.

The radio falls silent, a soft gasp escaping through parted lips. He sits up, an open palm cradling the device with utmost care. “Hello?” He says into the speaker. It’s a breathy whisper, yet loud enough for the receiver on the opposite end to hear. He waits a few minutes before repeating himself, slightly louder this time. “Hello?”

“…Hello?” Louder than his own call for help, yet the anonymous tone remains cautionary.

“Hel—Hello?” Bodhi almost jerks himself up from the floor, a toothy grin plastering upon features. He feels hope—something that he’s been deprived up for more than 5 years. Finally, he may have received the call for a possible escape. He repeats the one name he’s heard said by the cargo pilots, hoping it’ll instill trust. “Cassian?”

There’s a pause, long enough to force a sense of panic. He raises the speaker to his mouth, about to ask again if someone was at the other end, before hearing an almost hushed response.

“How do you know that name?”

“It doesn’t matter…Listen, I don’t have much time and I need your help. Jedha, the Rebellion keeps watch over the city, right?”

Another pause before the receiver clicks, signaling a response, “you hack into a closed radio network and then ask for help? Why should we trust you? Who are you?”

Bodhi’s grip only tightens on the device, fully knowing that the revelation of his identity could only lead to the loss of trust, something barely developed as it is. Taking a deep breath, he slowly raises the receiver to his mouth, uncertainty plaguing his tone. “My name is Bodhi Rook and…I’m a pilot for the Empire. Before you say anything, listen to me. I did this for my family on Jedha, to keep her safe. Please—.”

“An Imperial pilot? You expect me to  _help_  you?”

Desperation lingers, almost cutting off the man on the other side of the speaker, “I’ll feed you Empire secrets if it means you keep an eye on Jedha. –But first, who are  _you_?”

He hears another click, yet no sound from the other end. He’s counting seconds before the anonymous voice appears once more, “you already know who I am—is this network trackable from either end?”

“No, I made sure of that.”

“Come back tomorrow at the same time, I’ll give you what you want.”

And the connection falls into static, yet Bodhi’s countenance is nothing short of ecstatic. He finally has the means of outreach to ensure that the Empire has kept their word on the protection of the single person he has left. Risking his life to contact an anonymous source and placing insurmountable trust onto them, but this was a risk he had to take to certify the survival of both the Rebellion and a loved one.

Now, every day at the same hour, he returns back to the communications sector relaying information to Cassian in exchange for an update on the living situation on Jedha. It became routine rather than another task after the end of his shifts, however suspicion grew overtime.

The number of guards multiplied over the weeks of communication, inspecting to make sure that the corridor remained secure. Yet, their transmissions became more than ‘official meetings.’ They became a conversation between individuals placed within different circumstances sharing the same outlook—a conversation between acquaintances to friends. Possibly something more, yet the prospect had never been discussed from either end. The two never met, and most likely never would. Why have hope in the impossible?

They managed to continue transmissions for a little over a month before the network became noticeable to Bodhi’s superior officers. There was no doubt in his mind that he was being watched every moment he entered the same room, but no circumstance seemed to stop him. Everything was taken away from him, and he wouldn’t allow comfort to be added to the list.

He couldn’t keep hiding behind a transmitter when he knew exactly what the Empire had planned for him. No, death would be too easy for someone like him—he was replaceable, but the opportunity to make a statement would not be missed.

The young, Jedha boy who went against the Empire, and he would pay for it in every way possible but his life.

***

Cassian would wait beside the transmitter day after day, speaking into the receiver only to be treated to silence. The once set routine became a nuance. He would no longer be greeted with the familiar voice at the other end of the receiver—and even though all hope hadn’t been lost, he knew exactly why.

Both of their voices had been silenced.

***

It’s been days since Bodhi defected.

The search for Saw Gerrera came to a standstill when any bout of his trust had been questioned, a muddled mind coming forth to pass on information through a figure which taught him nothing other than survival within his own person. A being learning to trust again.

A reality coming in and out of focus, living within his own mind for an escape from  _whatever_  Saw did to ensure his loyalty to the cause. Perception of the outside world became minimal, speech becoming muddled enough to mask even the simplest of thoughts. He lived in silence within a cell created to house prisoners—he became what he was trying to escape.

It wasn’t until he hears a familiar voice, distorted yet understandable. A voice he’s heard time and time again: “are you the pilot?”

The simple phrase was repeated. He’s attempting to force a response, mumbling something only understandable to him. A few seconds pass before he manages to whisper something so simple yet meaningful, “I’m the pilot,” a slight pause, tone only getting louder, “—I’m the pilot.”

Cassian’s reaction is most memorable, taken aback by the affinity towards the voice of someone who was seemingly a stranger. Voices which once gave comfort were now reunited within the constraints of a formidable circumstance. He presses against the bars, creating a barricade between them, knowing that no amount of pressure would bring them together.

“What’s your name?”

With that, Bodhi looks behind him at the face of a stranger. Yet, it’s a revived connection made years before his recollection. His thoughts remain perplexed, however the conversation alone brought enough out to almost return his mind to himself.

“Bodhi—Bodhi Rook.” The sense of familiarity clicked into place only a second later, the look in his eyes exemplifying utmost relief and jubilation. He knew, and so did Cassian. “And you’re Cassian—I remember.”

A mutual sign of relief fills both cells, mimicking the ghost of a grin on both of their lips. Bodhi somewhat turns, making sure his body is directly parallel to Cassian’s. Rather than separation from a receiver, their separation continues with a metal, cell door.

“I thought you died,” Cassian says, avoiding any and all forms of eye contact.

“I’ve been known to be stubborn.”

Bodhi’s grin only grows, a genuine happiness filling an unknown void. He finally feels comfort. Resting his forehead against the bars between them, he reaches his hand through one of the openings. A slight nod gestures to Cassian, and now Bodhi is the one avoiding eye contact. All forms of affection have been stripped from his life, and he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Not this time.

After a moment, he begins to pull his hand back into his own cell before Cassian grabs hold, radiating an unknown warmth. Bodhi’s grip only tightens as he looks up, once plagued with defeat now filled with hope.

Bodhi stays silent, taking in the moment of deprived intimacy. Cassian follows suite, only until Bodhi breaks the silence.

“…Thank you.”

A bond rekindled. 


End file.
